W: Mas******ing Away The Pain

Mas******ing Away The Pain

"Don't give up," a voice says. The ever-present, often lifesaving words
of hope. Only once has she left me but I didn't have the implements to
put me out of my suffering. For half an hour I would have done it. I
would have done anything. But more often than not I am paralysed,
wrecked with the self-confidence of an office block, dormant and alone,
not even able to kill myself, for that would take some sort of grand
gesture that is beyond me.
The half-eaten prawn mayonnaise roll dripped of the television set,
the pieces of the laptop lay before me. My destructive self in full
unsympathetic giant form. A large structure should never be hunched so.
That's the problem with being physically big, you need to have the big
personality to go with it. Not me, small personality, small dick and a
sweaty palms, that can only give me physical pleasure in the last thing
I do at night, to masturbate over pictures of women who spread their
thighs.
Say, what you will about me, I am still a man amongst millions, who
feel disenfranchised, threatened by the demands of the opposite sex and
questioning ones lack of a role to fulfil in this universe. It is so
cruel, and natural selection is the cruelest. 'Looks aren't that
important.' Well you tell the world that. What people say and how they
act are two different things and sometimes I feel so sick of being in
the minority. I don't crave money, nor power or possessions. I don't
needlessly pollute the earth. I support the underdog, the downtrodden,
sometimes they are called the weak but you tell me who is weak when
there is every reason to put a gun to the head of your aggressors, or
put it to your own head, and you don't because for some reason you
believe that some day the sun will be golden and the girl of your
dreams adorns you with unquestionable love, even when your experiences
contradict such hope.
That half an hour of blankness, when I paced the streets from home to
college and to the pub was rescued by my good friend, John. A voice of
sympathy and reason amongst the clouded madness I was feeling. He told
me to "fuck it, and just enjoy the fact of being alive, no matter what
anybody else thought what being alive was about." And there we have it,
how one must stay alive in order that we can dream and hope, and
believe that some day this feeling of misplacement and rejection will
leave, or at least not rest so heavy on my heart. So I take a day at a
time and not plan too far ahead into the future. Little-steps, a
recovering alcoholic may say. I'm still alone, I often think I forever
will be. I still get angry with my computer, but at least I haven't
thrown it across the room like I did my laptop, and I'm still of a
large frame, although a new haircut seems to do the trick of making me
less unlovable. I try to walk straight and I don't compromise my
politics, my beliefs and especially my ability to love someone who
doesn't necessarily love me. Oh, and I still masturbate, but I don't
care, I just say "fuck it!"